It turns out, “Heartbreak Hill”
isn't as mean as its reputation (and name) suggests, when you look at
it by the numbers. The fourth and final of the Newton hills on the
Boston Marathon course rises only 88 vertical feet, and does so over
about 4/10 of a mile. Its placement on the course adds tremendously
to its difficulty, not only the fourth hill in a row, but also a bit
of a shock to runners as these hills – beginning at mile 16 and
ending with Heartbreak between mile 20 and 21 - mark a noticeable
change in course structure, ascending after an otherwise gradual
descent out of Hopkinton, and come at a point in the race where sugar
is low in the runner's body. The name “Heartbreak Hill” was
coined many years ago, when the now-famous Johnny Kelley, running the
race in 1936 (the same year he would represent the US in the
Olympics), passed Tarzan Brown on the hill, patting him on the back
as he pulled into the lead position. After that gesture, Brown
surged and passed Kelley, “breaking Kelley's heart,” as described
by Boston Globe reporter Jerry Nason.

A hill, however, doesn't have to mean
heartbreak. Coming off of a long, snowy winter of ice-covered
roadways that forced my training indoors and onto the treadmill,
re-adjusting to road running hasn't been as bad as some had warned me
it would be. Frankly, I don't notice much difference with one huge
exception – the hills. There simply is no way to simulate a real hill on a treadmill...both the climb
up, and the descent. In my first few runs outside since the weather
broke, my struggles have come facing hills. There is only one
way to beat this.

In the off-season, on the rowing team
at Phillips Academy Andover, we couldn't row on the Merrimack, too
solid with ice in the winter, then raging with early spring snowmelt
flooding. Therefore, our winter and early spring training was
conducted on the rowing machine, and in other creative methods,
including running hills. So, I had previous experience tackling these bumps, but it was many years ago, with a much younger body, and I
questioned my physical competence to “take the hill” again.
Nonetheless, there was no doubt – to beat the hills, I would have
to face them without reservation.

So, this Sunday I ran
to a hill about a mile and a half from my house, matching Heartbreak's statistics closely – a climb of .44 miles and a similar
vertical rise. My goal was simple – run up
and down as many times as possible, without stopping or resting,
until I simply couldn't take it anymore. I hoped that would be about
10 repetitions.

The first time was grueling – all of
my recent pain and struggle running hills was on exhibit, both on the way up, and coming back down. The second ascent was better. The
third, surprisingly, even stronger. A lesson I've learned time and
again was clear once more – “it's all in your head.”
I'll expand upon that in a future post, but suffice to say that in my
training I've found the body is willing and able to do what the heart
desires, but the head is the strongest opponent and obstacle. By my
seventh rise, however, the pain had increased exponentially, and was
excruciating. My right shin was burning, and had already been tender on some
runs. Aware of the potential for shin splints, I immediately
thought, “you've done seven...that's great...you cannot risk
injury...you cannot risk getting hurt...you need to stop.” So, as
I came back down the hill, I determined I would stop for the sake
of my well-being – this was simply too painful.

When I reached the
bottom, however, something remarkable stirred: deep inside, I
still felt a drive. I wasn't where I
envisioned I'd be. I couldn't stop. A brief inner debate lasted only about 10 seconds, before I realized there was a
compromise solution. My spirit needed to drive forward, determined to
master the hills and further my progress toward my goal of finishing
the marathon and raising money for kids afflicted with liver disease.
My head warned of injury, pain and hurt that could knock me out of
the whole thing. Then, my mind kicked in. I don't know if there's
any formal psychological study that can distinguish “head” from
“mind,” but I believe there is a difference. Your head acts with
reflex, often based in fear rooted in previous experiences, and
many of us know that fear can trap you, play tricks on you, and in my
case, convince you that you have to turn back or face certain injury.
Your mind, on the other hand, is smart – years of experience and
education that are available to you, and with practice and
fine-tuning, can be used to further your inner drive. “Why not
keep going, but slow the pace?”, my mind inquired. How had I not
thought of that on my entire descent down the hill? How had I not
considered this basic solution when my shin was stinging and I
worried of injury? Why was I prepared to stop after so much work,
but short of my goal, rather than simply slow to a more comfortable
pace? So, I turned, and headed up the hill for an eighth time. On
this lap, folks who live on the street asked as I ran by “How many
laps are you doing? Are you training for the marathon or something?”
Yes, I am...and I'm doing ten. By the tenth climb, the natural
burning through my legs and lungs that accompanies physical duress was
nearly unbearable, but my shin was much better. Slowing the pace –
though still running steadily toward my goal – had done the trick.
Unbeknownst to me, the neighbors started keeping track on that
nearly-non-existent eighth lap, and by my tenth, exclaimed, “Good
luck in the marathon!”, aware that I was on my final pass.

In life, like in my training, there are times the run becomes excruciating. There are
times we see the warnings of injury, pain or hurt and stop dead
at the bottom of the proverbial hill, afraid to tackle it, worried of
injury, unsure of what lay on the path to the top. Other times we start to run those proverbial hills but never finish. In those
instances, my head told me, “it's too dangerous...too much
pain...you must stop.” Sometimes we convince ourselves those seven hills were good enough and quite an
accomplishment, though deep inside, that inner drive knew we must go farther. Somehow, after 32 years
of life and logging hundreds of miles, this Sunday on that Heartbreak
Hill replica, I learned how to meld the driving heart and the
reasoning mind...silence the fearful head...and ensure that even 10
consecutive hills with no rest don't have to mean Heartbreak.

Oh, and one more thing. Though it hurt
for the rest of the day...by the next morning, my shin felt just
fine, and I couldn't be more excited to take the hill again soon.
And I will, at least 11 times. Maybe I'll see you there.

I'm running the Boston Marathon because - unlike hills you and I can overcome with the right outlook - the hills for liver patients, particularly children, require more than concert of heart, mind and body. Consider your donation to the Run For Research as one single stride to make it up the hills that lay ahead for these patients. To help take another stride, please click here.